


spinning on that dizzy edge

by thegrayness



Series: the touch of your hand [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But they are cute tentacles, David Rose Has Tentacles, Fluff, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/pseuds/thegrayness
Summary: “You don’t seem to be freaking out,” David said.ORDavid has tentacles and, well, maybe they play matchmaker.





	spinning on that dizzy edge

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, David has tentacles. They're cool, I promise. Thank you to the legendary leupagus for beta-ing. And thanks to everyone at the Rosebudd, this is for you.
> 
> Title from... The Cure.

“Do they...do anything?” Patrick asked.

“Well. They’re tentacles so they move around and I can pick stuff up with them yes. And. Well. They kind of. Also—have feelings?” David responded.

Patrick propped his feet up on a stack of hand cream boxes, trying not to lose his balance on the narrow stool in the back corner of the store. It had been a busy day receiving new inventory and moving furniture, but David had declared them done for the day, and promptly pulled a bottle of wine out of a freshly-delivered case. Patrick knew better, by now, then to try and object to the consumption of sellable inventory. He took a big gulp of his wine. “Feelings?” 

David nodded and cleared his throat. This wasn’t the first time he’d ever revealed his extra appendages to anyone. But it was kind of the first time he felt like a reaction mattered. He figured if they were going to open a store together in a few weeks then he should be 100% honest with his business partner. David liked Patrick—as a person!—and didn’t want to ruin any of… that. 

Plus, David was having trouble keeping his tentacles retracted when they worked in the store together. He was beginning to think _they_ liked Patrick.

“Mmhmm. The—um. Well, they. Like if I’m..sad? They’ll get kind of droopy?”

“Like a dog tail.” 

David gave him a stormy look. “ _No_ , not like a dog tail.”

Patrick pressed his lips together and nodded his silent understanding and agreement that he would never again make that comparison. “What do they...look like?” he seemed honestly curious, and he didn’t seem to be freaking out.

“You don’t seem to be freaking out,” David said. 

Patrick smiled. “Thank you. For telling me, David. You said before you’re not the only tentacled one on the planet. There was a kid who went to my school. I never—I mean I didn’t see them. But it wasn’t a secret.” 

David hummed and took a sip from his glass of wine. 

Patrick picked at the edge of the coaster beneath his drink. “Can I...see them? Or...do other people know?” 

“Other people in town know, yes. Not everybody, but some. I’ve asked people not to share information unprompted, but I can’t ask people to lie about it.”

“Was you not answering your way of saying no I can’t see them?” 

David snorted. “You know I don’t have any problem saying no.”

“Mm, of course. So I can? See them? They seem pretty important, and you are kind of squirming in your seat.”

David took a deep breath. “Okay.” He downed the last of his wine and tried to relax his shoulders. It was sometimes hard to force them to extend, especially on the spot like this, but he felt the familiar sensation in his lower back as they slid out almost immediately. 

There were eight, though they weren’t always out in totality. They spread out around him, long enough that he could wrap himself up with them if he wanted to (and sometimes he wanted to). 

David didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he heard a soft gasp. He looked up, startled, noticing his tentacles floating around his periphery, and chanced a glance at Patrick. 

“David,” he whispered, lifting a hand towards an appendage as if he might touch it. 

“Oh—um—“ David started, intending to warn Patrick that his tentacles might be a bit...friendly, but one of his right-sides darted forward to nuzzle its tip against Patrick’s palm. 

“Oh!” Patrick said, delighted. He wiggled his fingers against the soft, leathery skin and David gave a full body shiver at the sensation.

He hadn’t had someone touch his tentacles in quite a long time. 

“They’re beautiful,” Patrick said, once David pulled them into some semblance of control. Two were wrapped loosely around his torso, just for storage sake, and two others fluttered around, moving things around on a nearby table. His other four had retreated, fitting comfortably in their spot at the small of David’s back. 

“Thanks.” David was not blushing, but one tentacle abandoned its pile of products and stroked itself along his own cheekbone. He gently swatted it away, failing to hide a pleased smile. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting—your color palette is exquisite,” Patrick teased, referring to the starkly contrasting splotches of black and white that usually adorned his tentacles. They changed color sometimes, dulling with sadness or brightening to a blinding white with excitement. 

“Expecting something green and slimy?” David’s lips twisted into a pleased little smile. 

“From you? Never—oh, hello.” A left-side had strayed from where it rested on the display table beside them and sidled its way along Patrick’s shoulder to poke at his cheek. “They’re—warmer than I thought they’d be.” He patted the long arm of it. 

“Sorry, they—do whatever they want sometimes,” David said, working to rein that particular appendage back to its spot on the table.

“They are—kind of cute.” 

David felt two of them perk up at the compliment. 

“Yes, well. They’re something anyway.”

“So how long can they get, then?” Patrick asked the next day as David stocked a high shelf with the backup product, tentacles moving quickly to pass bottles up and up and up. 

David forced them to keep working but turned his head to look over his shoulder. “I’ve never measured.”

Patrick was at the counter on his laptop reviewing a spreadsheet, David assumed. “Mm. After you’re done we can label the—” he picked up a jar from the box next to him “—eucalyptus under-eye serum?”

“That stuff’s amazing. I’m almost done here.”

“Can your—can they help with labeling or?”

“Probably not,” David answered, amused. “Fingers are pretty important for peeling and sticking.” He wiggled his own to demonstrate.

“Oh,” Patrick blushed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

So they stood side by side, a box of eye cream between them on the table, peeling, pulling, and sticking Rose Apothecary labels onto tiny jars of what David would describe as a soothing spa day for your eye bags. David’s tentacles were out, his right-sides floating over near Patrick. He tried his best to keep those ones in line, given their penchant for reaching towards his business partner when David let his concentration slip. 

Patrick didn’t seem to mind the proximity to David’s extra appendages, and David was grateful that the whole reveal and subsequent integration into their business life went smoothly. As it was, Patrick humored his tentacles most of the time, laughing lightly if they touched his shoulder, gently batted them away if they went after his food as he took a bite, but he never asked David to put them away. David’s offered a few times, like that time one of his right-sides tried to tangle itself in one of his belt loops and David had to flee to the back in mortification for five minutes. 

All Patrick had to say about the _incident_ was, “They’re friendly,” with a casual shrug. 

David could feel his right-sides getting rebellious, the familiar flash of heat spiking in his chest, and he kept his eyes on them. It turned out to be useless because his left-sides—purposely, David is sure—knock a few jars off the table, and while David was distracted trying to gather the rolling product, his right-sides sneaked over to _grab Patrick’s ass._

“Oh, hey!” He heard Patrick exclaim, saw his feet take a few steps back from his spot crouched on the ground, and had the permanent feeling of the rough material of Patrick’s jeans against his tentacle burned into his memory. 

“ _Oh my god.”_ David was behind the closed bathroom door before Patrick could blink. 

“David,” Patrick called, knocking gently on the door. “Are you okay?”

David sat on the closed lid of the toilet, head buried in his hands as if that would erase the last five minutes and cause a hole to open up and just swallow him and his rebellious tentacles whole. He’d pulled his tentacles back as soon as he’d realized what they’d done, but he could feel them itching to slide out at the sound of Patrick’s voice. 

This had happened before, one or two times, when David had crushes or was particularly attracted to someone. His tentacles generally felt it first, attempting to nudge David along. But Patrick was—different. Important. David couldn’t just jump into something with his _business partner_ and expect it to be fine just because his tentacles wanted some dick. 

“David,” Patrick repeated. “Can you say something?”

“No,” David replied miserably. 

“Do you...want me to leave?” 

_Yes, leave me to perish in embarrassment in peace._ “No.”

“...Okay,” Patrick’s voice was hesitant. “I’ll just. Finish up the labeling?”

David didn’t respond, but he heard Patrick’s footsteps retreat to the front of the store.

Ten minutes later, David was starting to feel bad for making Patrick finish the work they had to do, so he reluctantly clicked open the lock on the door, and practically slinked out into the main room. 

Patrick looked up from his work, looking relieved. 

“So,” David started, crossing his arms, tentacles safely hidden. “Obviously I didn’t intend for that to happen. I’m—sorry. I’m usually able to keep a better eye on them. I think they are feeling a little _free_ since they’ve been allowed out so often with other people, lately. Well. A person.” 

Patrick was smiling now, and David wasn’t sure it was altogether a good thing. He walked to where David was hovering by the bathroom door and reached out to fit his hands over David’s shoulders. 

“David, it’s really okay. I—did some research? After you first told me, and—I get that sometimes they...act on their—instincts. At least I think I understand?”

David didn’t really think Patrick understood at all, or at least he hoped he didn’t. He wasn’t quite ready to have a conversation about how his tentacles wanted to fuck him because they knew deep down David did, too. He was locking that thought up in a box for the foreseeable future. 

David sighed, shoulders relaxing a little, a few left-sides sliding out, low-key and suitably chastised from David's energy in the bathroom. 

That was the first time Patrick was there for a color change. They were usually fairly vibrant, white patches standing out against their inky black skin. But as they slowly made their appearance, Patrick must have noticed that they looked rather...dull. The usual white shifting more gray and dusty, it was subtle, but Patrick’s faced became pinched in concern. The normally shiny black was shallow and weathered, and all around they looked a bit...sad.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hand out near the tips of them. “What happened?” The two slid themselves along his hand, up his exposed forearm, stopping where he’d rolled his sleeves up. He stroked them with his other hand, watching in awe as they slowly brightened in color. 

Two more right-sides perked up, extending out to flit around Patrick’s shoulder, grazing the stubble along his jaw every few seconds. 

Patrick looked to David, who was staring wide-eyed back at him, and smiled shyly. “They seem okay now.”

David blinked, nodded silently. 

“Are _you_ okay? I—I’m sorry, I should have started with that. It’s just your tentacles are very distracting?”

“Don’t I know it,” David muttered, looking away. “Don’t worry about it, let’s just forget this whole thing ever happened.”

He didn’t wait for Patrick to agree, just moved back to where they had their labeling assembly line set up and got back to work. His tentacles were back to their normal color but were subdued the rest of the day. 

“Hey so remember earlier today when one of your tentacles touched my ass?” Patrick said as they locked up.

David flushed, but couldn’t pull his smile back quick enough. “Yes, and I also remember requesting that we forget it ever happened.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, request denied.” He smirked at David before trotting down to the sidewalk. 

“Mmkay,” David started. “That’s rude.” His tentacles weren’t out, David rarely, if ever, walked down the street with them fluttering about, but he could tell they wanted to reach out for Patrick. 

“Actually I think it may have been rude when you grabbed my ass?” Patrick teased as they walked.

“Yes, well. I assure you I would never do that.”

Patrick stopped. “Never?”

David turned, stunned. Did Patrick just suggest—? 

Was Patrick _flirting_ with him? 

“Well,” he murmured. “Maybe not _never_.”

At the motel that night, Stevie mixed him another drink from her stash in the office off the lobby. His tentacles were spread along the couch, lounging, which sometimes happened when David drank. They got a bit heavy and languid. In his former life, he’d keep them retracted for sure. It was nice to let them relax as he shared his horrific ass-grabbing experience with Stevie. 

“So at what point do you start taking them seriously?” Stevie asked, handing over a vodka soda. She sat down on a chair next to him, letting a hand lay on the end of one of his right-sides. The tentacle flopped over, curling slightly around her palm, before settling again. 

They liked holding hands with Stevie. 

David took a long drink. “What do you mean?”

Stevie looked at him knowingly. “I _mean_ , when do you start making a move on Patrick because obviously, they see something you don’t.”

David snorted. “They see a great ass in tight jeans. Not sure it’s worth the risk for that.”

“You told me he changed their color.”

“Yes, well,” David began but didn’t say anything else. 

“Well, what?” Stevie prompted. 

“They are...fickle,” he hedged, causing one to twitch in irritation and float over to his lap. He caressed it, soothing, but sent it back to its spot. 

Stevie gave him a skeptical look. “Didn’t they like... _loathe_ Sebastien? Shouldn’t you at least... _see_?”

David pressed his lips together. It was true that his tentacles weren’t fans of some of his other partners or prospective...whatevers, but he would absolutely not be admitting that Stevie had a point. Instead he focused his attention on his drink, and pushed a tentacle over to mess up her hair as a distraction.

He didn’t want to think about what it meant that they seemed to be… enamored with Patrick. 

In the last few days before store opening, his tentacles got steadily… worse. 

There was the time they sneakily nudged Patrick’s tea closer to David as they ate at the counter in the Cafe. So close to that Patrick’s arm brushed against David’s. Which definitely didn’t David him feel tingly at all. There were several near-misses involving both Patricks belt buckle and back pocket. And David was pretty sure they were steadily changing color. 

David had to ignore all of that; their exclusive VIP soft opening was that night, and he had to focus. He let his tentacles out in the morning, since he knew he’d want them tucked in during the event. He didn’t need them accosting a customer, or knocking shit over, or fawning over Patrick in his neat button-up when he was trying to make a good impression on their future clientele. 

Startlingly vulgar customer in line aside, David was ready. He thought.

“Are we ready to do this?” He asked. 

“Open the door,” Patrick answered with a nod. He cleared his throat. “Softly,” he stage-whispered. 

“ _Okay_.” David scoffed, but turned the sign over, and braced himself.

“Congratulations, man,” Patrick said, arms open. 

David’s tentacles were already reaching for him before David had even decided to respond in kind. “Congratulations to you,” he answered awkwardly, shuffling into Patrick’s arms as his tentacles just _went for it_. They slid around Patrick, all eight of them, tugging him forward so he was flush against David’s chest. Patrick grunted lightly with the force of it, but didn’t otherwise comment, just wrapped his arms around David’s back.

David hugged his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, sighing quietly as his tentacles squeezed Patrick a little tighter. He felt Patrick’s hands rubbing small circles near his shoulder blades, and decided that was a long enough hug for business partners. He tried to pull away, but was jerked back towards Patrick as his tentacles doubled-down on the hug. 

“Oof,” Patrick said, trying to pull his head back. 

“Sorry!” David exclaimed, panic building in his chest. “I’m—hang on, just—” David sent some energy to his tentacles, loosening their hold on Patrick so they could put a few inches between them. He was just glad none of them happened to pin down Patrick’s arms. “I’m so sorry, they are being such little shits, I—”

“David,” Patrick cut him off. “It’s all right.” He reached up and brushed his fingers across David’s cheekbone. 

David’s breath caught in his throat and he held it, afraid if he let it go everything would disappear, an aberration, a fantasy that manifested after he hit his head trying to hang something by himself in his store and he never really met Patrick Brewer at all. 

“You had an eyelash,” Patrick explained, voice so soft in the inches between them. 

David nodded faintly, feeling dizzy, noticing a tentacle slink up Patrick’s back to nudge at the back of his head. 

Patrick slid his eyes sideways, noticing the same tentacle, and bit his lip knowingly. “How about dinner?” He asked, but David had a feeling he wasn’t just talking to him. 

David nodded again, letting out a breath through his nose. He felt his tentacles relax slightly, bursting with a flash of brightness that he could feel deep in his chest. He pulled them back, retracting about halfway so he could take a step away from Patrick. 

“Are they—have they changed color?” Patrick squinted and leaned a little closer to the one nearest him. The appendage caressed Patrick’s neck, bringing a light flush to his cheeks. 

David watched in horror as his now pale blue and inky black right-side flirted with his business-partner-slash-crush, watched Patrick laugh delightedly, eyes glinting playfully back at David. 

“It—it must be the lighting—” David lied, pulling his tentacle back. “Maybe we order in?” He suggested hopefully. The idea of being around more people was...exhausting, but David supposed he could handle Ray. 

Ray was away for the night, it turned out. _‘Last minute Tiny House conference in Thornbridge, back tomorrow!,’_ the note said. It was just as well because David was pretty sure they were going to have to _talk_ about, you know, stuff. 

They settled in at the kitchen table after four or five atmospheric suggestions from his right-sides, including knocking over a candlestick next to a lighter, flat out scooping up a bouquet of fake flowers from the counter and relocating them to the center of the table, and nudging Patrick’s hand towards proper dinnerware as he reached for paper plates. 

His left-sides floated about aimlessly, seemingly showing off their new unavoidable hue that looked like not-so-pale-anymore blue and dark onyx, so dimensional that they seemed...iridescent. 

“So—" 

“Listen, David—” 

They spoke together after they'd settled in at the table. David's tentacles felt like they were humming, tiny vibrations filling him up as he gestured for Patrick to continue. He pulled back a tentacle that was poking at the pizza box on the counter behind him. 

Patrick looked at him across the table, over the tentacle-suggested cream-colored candlestick they’d propped up in a glass filled with the rocks you put in a fish tank. He plucked at the plasticky coating on the sunflowers in front of him and took a deep breath. “Is it just your tentacles?”

David scrunched his face in confusion.

“The—” Patrick gestured to the room at large with an exaggerated nod, “—everything. Me. Is it—is it just your tentacles?”

David pressed his lips together and shook his head. “It’s not just my tentacles,” he whispered.

Patrick was scraping his chair back before David was finished speaking, and he pulled David up and into his arms. From the look in Patrick’s eyes, David braced himself for a heated kiss, but Patrick hesitated, lips inches, _millimeters_ , from David’s. 

He blinked slowly, breath shallow, wondering what Patrick was waiting for, and as Patrick glanced longingly at David’s mouth he realized. Patrick was waiting for _him._

Later, he’d be impressed with his tentacles for letting him have this moment.

David took Patrick’s face in both hands, thumbs stroking over his flushed cheeks, and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Patrick whimpered against his lips, surging forward, body pushing against David’s—as he slid his hands around David’s hips and into the back pockets of his jeans. Patrick was so _enthusiastic_ that David stumbled back a step, bringing Patrick with him as he backed up against the counter and—

“Ah, ah—” David pulled his mouth away. “Tentacles,” he panted into Patrick’s mouth, turning them so he was the one pressing Patrick against the counter. Patrick didn’t waste any time, tugging David closer and fitting his lips against the hollow of David’s throat. David groaned, hands clenching in the back of Patrick’s sweater, as he felt Patrick's lips drag along his Adam’s apple. 

His tentacles were having a field day, stroking along Patrick’s shoulders, curling around the backs of his thighs, making aborted attempts to lift him onto the counter. At the very least, they succeeded in pulling one of Patrick’s legs up to hook around the back of David’s knee, lining up their cocks in a delicious position that made David curse. 

Patrick moaned against his neck, kissing his way back to David’s open mouth, darting his tongue out to dip between David’s lips, past his teeth. One of David’s hands moved up to clutch at the back of Patrick’s neck and he dropped the other onto the counter for balance. Patrick grunted as David bit down on his lower lip, hips giving an aborted thrust forward and he dragged his lips against the stubble along David’s jaw. 

David slid a tentacle up the back of Patrick's sweater, snaking another around his waist, as if they could possibly get closer, hips rocking together. Working on what felt like a giant hickey on the side of David’s neck, Patrick brought a hand up to sink into David’s hair, tilting his head to get better access. David moaned, loudly, grinding his hips forward and Patrick was pulling at the hem of his sweater, scraping his teeth along the underside of David’s jaw, when they heard a clattering crash nearby. 

David’s tentacles nearly all retracted immediately, startled, dropping Patrick’s foot to the floor with a clunk. The pair looked over and saw Ray’s god-awful ceramic fruit bowl in three large pieces on the floor surrounded by five or six Granny Smith apples, likely knocked off by a wayward appendage. They were both breathing hard, and looked back at each other with breathless laughter. 

Patrick rested his head against David’s shoulder, turning to nose at the short hairs around his ear. 

“We should eat,” David said. 

Patrick made an agreeable noise. “Can we make out some more after?”

David laughed, giddy. “That can probably be arranged, post-pizza.” Some of his tentacles slowly came back, prodding at Patrick unnecessarily, until he lifted his head and noticed their color. He gasped softly, and David took a step back. “What is it?”

Patrick gently wrapped his hand around one, pulling it closer to them. They were—they looked _ethereal_. David almost didn’t recognize them as the tentacles he sprouted three weeks after he turned ten. Alexis had been delighted, and his mother fawned over how much they looked like her Aunt Ginger’s.

The bright white spots had shifted to a gorgeous, rich cobalt nestled up next to their usual black sections, but now they appeared to _shimmer_. It wasn’t glitter, but it was—something. It seemed to shift, as his tentacles moved. 

Patrick stroked along the one in his hand, and it gave a dramatic shake in his grasp, causing him to let go in surprise. 

David flushed. “They get—sensitive. When—well you know.”

“Oh?” Patrick asked faintly, running a finger along that same tentacle, just to see. David jerked it away from Patrick’s roaming hands and Patrick smirked at him. “ _Oh_.”

“Yes. Well. They are _fun_ sometimes,” David said, vague. 

Patrick’s eyes lit up, but he just hummed and nodded, maneuvering himself away from the counter. He dropped a kiss to David’s shoulder and took the pizza to the table. 

“So, like,” Patrick began, half a slice down. “How fun?”  



End file.
